


sugar, sweetheart, babygirl

by perfchan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drunk Keith (Voltron), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, POV Lance (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfchan/pseuds/perfchan
Summary: Keith gets up and, even from this distance, Lance can see him teeter on his feet. Lance raises his eyebrows in disbelief as he takes in the spectacle before him: Keith opens his eyes wide, blinking slowly, head tilted slightly back. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He takes one step and nearly falls over, then over corrects, tripping to the other side.Lance continues to watch in open mouthed incredulity:Licking his lips in concentration, Keith steels himself to the task of walking through the tables of the reception hall towards Lance. He trips over nothing and giggles to himself, then stumbles a little bit, almost face planting over a chair.‘Disbelief’ doesn’t cut it. ‘Incredulous’ is too mild a word. Lance is fucking flabbergasted. Keith. Is. Sloshed.*Lance finds himself with a very tipsy Keith at Shiro’s wedding reception.





	sugar, sweetheart, babygirl

**Author's Note:**

> hi to my readers from ‘when all this is over, where do we stand’!! I hope you enjoy this bonus chapter!! If you haven’t read that fic, you absolutely 1000% can still read this fic as a oneshot!! This ficlet is based off of chapter 17 of ‘when all this’ in which keith gets drunk...and later doesn’t remember what happens. This fic is from lance’s pov so we can fill in the blanks in keith’s memory. prepare for pining lance and silly, tipsy keith:

 

***

 

There has been a mix-up. A switcheroo. A change in the good ol’ terms and conditions. 

 

And Lance does not remember signing off on  _ this _ .  _ This _ definitely was not included in his hey-the-universe-needs-YOU-to-pilot-Voltron contract, not even in the fine print, not even in the shitty little addendum that allowed for infinite amounts of emotional baggage for you AND your cow. 

 

Because this? 

 

( _ This _ is one Keith Kogane---Voltron’s legendary black paladin, a man beautiful and wild and fire-filled, always and forever just out of Lance’s reach---slumped against him in his living room. Keith is still in his tux, but it’s wrinkled now, and god, that’s his mouth hot over Lance’s neck, and his thumbs pressing hard against the crest of Lance’s hips, and he’s smiling, he’s happy, he’s laughing, and this---) 

 

This is unfair, six ways from Sunday. Unpredicted, even by the sharpest of shooters. Unprecedented. Borderline  _ unnatural _ , if you want to go that far.  

 

Okay. 

 

Let’s start at the beginning: 

 

The first time that Lance entered the Galaxy Garrison’s impressive atrium----

 

No. 

 

That’s too far back. We don’t have that kind of time. 

 

Start instead at the best part of Shiro’s wedding, the best part of any wedding, really: the point at which Lance shrugged out of the stuffy suit jacket and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his collar. 

 

He rolls up his sleeves, ditches the assigned seat with its little name placard, and is officially in Relax Mode. 

 

Keith is in the corner, brooding. 

 

That’s not true. Keith of five years ago would have been in the corner, brooding. Keith now is drawn apart from the crowd, and he’s quiet, but not in a brooding way. His dark, solemn eyes are turned on the room, but it’s more in a people-watching kind of way than an assessing-potential-threats and/or aloof-and-thinking-about-the-great-mysteries-of-the-universe kind of way. It’s a point of pride for Lance that he knows Keith well enough to be able to tell the difference---not many people in the universe could boast the same. A waiter brings Keith another one of the tall, pink drinks he’s been sipping on, and an easy expression passes over Keith’s face, thanking the waiter. He takes a sip and tilts his head slightly, watching the band. 

 

So, not brooding. 

 

Lance still thinks that Keith needs to lighten up. 

 

Lance plucks one of the name placards from the table setting in front of him. ‘Lloyd Anton’ (Curtis’ dad) is written in fancy, swirly gold lettering. Lance makes an abrupt decision about Lloyd’s character, based on what few interactions the two of them have shared: Lloyd is a man of few words, like his son. Lloyd is a realist. Lloyd isn’t sentimental enough to keep the name place card from his son’s wedding reception. He won’t miss it. Lloyd’s a practical guy. He would  _ want  _ this piece of paper to serve a greater good. Fulfill a destiny beyond that of table decor. 

 

Methodically, Lance rips the heavy paper into strips. He rolls the first strip into a tiny ball and places it in the center of his palm. 

 

Corner of his tongue poking out of his mouth, Lance leans forward over the table and maps out the shot. One eye squeezed shut for better aim, he lines up---focusing right in the middle of Keith’s forehead---and  _ flicks.  _

 

The tiny ball of paper goes zinging across the tables---but it’s wide. It misses Keith by a mile. Damn. 

 

Gathering his ammo (the strips of paper), Lance gets up and moves two seats to the right. He takes aim again--- _ flick _ \--- _ zing _ \---

 

This time the little ball of paper has interference. It bounces off old Aunt Judy’s considerable bust to wind up in her post-wedding-cake cup of coffee. Quite offended, Aunt Judy shoots a nasty look in his general direction. Sorry Aunt Judy! His bad! (Aunt Judy is unlikely to have the sleuthing skills to sniff out the culprit, but just in case, Lance moves to a different table and pointedly looks away for about five minutes to cover his tracks). 

 

More determined than ever, Lance prepares a third shot. He dunks his fingertips in the nearest drink (he doesn’t use spit; he’s not _ gross _ ) to give the paper ball a bit more weight. It’s all in the technique, yanno? 

 

This one finds its mark. Or rather, it would have, if Keith didn’t have freakishly good reflexes. Or is it intuition? Those pesky galra genes? Whatever it is, Keith shifts at the exact right time and the paper goes zinging past his cheek. He blinks, clueless, and takes a long sip of his drink. 

 

“Tch.” Not about to give up that easily, Lance prepares a forth shot. At least, he intends to, before he’s interrupted. 

Curtis---who is, by all accounts, a wet blanket in human form---approaches him. 

 

“Thank you for being here today, Lance,” he says, probably. Curtis is a mumbler and the music is loud, so Lance is basically going off of context clues and lip reading here. 

 

“Huh?” Lance takes a moment to process the tiny little rabbit noises coming out of the huge man’s mouth. Once deciphered, Lance responds with an easy: “Oh yeah. No prob. Of course.” He tucks the paper strips under a cloth napkin and shoots Curtis his most winning smile. 

 

Curtis continues, spacey as always, “I hope you’re having a nice time,” 

 

“He’s been launching spitballs at random people for the past forty minutes,” Amy interjects, giggling. Amy is Curtis’ little sister and was, until this exact moment, a cute kid. 

 

“What she means is,” Lance gives Amy a look of warning, “I’m very much enjoying myself in a mature and reasonable manner.” 

 

For being a wet blanket, Curtis isn’t so bad. Shiro is happy with him anyways, and, all joking aside, Lance is glad that Shiro found that. He deserves it. “But yeah, it was a,” Lance searches for a word to describe the wedding that isn’t ‘boring’ or ‘long’ and finds his extensive vocabulary coming up short, “Great ceremony. Super happy for you guys. Really. Congratulations.” 

 

“Thanks Lance,” Shiro says, sidling up to Curtis. He squeezes Curtis’ hand and looks absurdly content. 

 

And that really does make Lance feel good. He’s all warm and fuzzy inside, chatting easily with Shiro before the happy couple moves on to talk to other guests. Curtis’ nephew toddles up to them, on the run from his mother. His young mother follows, looking tired. It’s not long before Curtis’ nephew is curled up in Lance’s arms as he makes small talk with her after Shiro and Curtis have left. 

 

“Oooh, ooh I love this song!” Amy tugs on Lance’s hand. The band is playing something slightly more uptempo and Lance thinks that the little girl probably just wants to dance with him (she’s been following Lance around all day). 

 

“Mind if I take the kids for a bit?” Lance asks the tired woman, whose name he doesn’t remember offhand. 

 

She looks at him gratefully and sinks into a chair. “Absolutely feel free.” 

 

Thus Lance winds up dancing with a couple of random kids. But hey, Shiro is pretty much family and Curtis is now family-in-law, so, technically, they’re his kids. That’s how it works, right?

 

Amy is having a lot of fun. Lance shimmies around with the toddler in his arms and she laughs, swinging back and forth with him, bumping into random people on the dance floor. Veronica and Axca act like they’re too cool to dance, so Lance makes sure to hassle them until they’re forced to join in. 

 

Throughout it all, Lance keeps glancing over at Keith, trying to catch his eye. Five slow songs and one conga line later, and the mullet is still sitting all alone. Lance has just decided to go over there and physically pull him into the group when Keith looks his direction and their eyes meet. 

 

“C’mon!!!” Lance waves him over, trying to be obvious enough about it that even Keith will get what he means. 

 

From the other side of the room, Keith shakes his head. 

 

Lance pouts and Keith raises his eyebrows in contention, because he’s a jerk. 

 

Lance sighs, 

 

Wait. He looks down at Amy. Adorable, precious Amy. Keith loves kids. More importantly, Keith has a strong sense of duty: he would never knowingly disappoint a child. That’s just part of what makes Keith so Keith-y. 

 

“Hey.” Lance squats, motioning Amy close. “Wanna play a joke on somebody?” 

 

Amy taps a finger against her mouth before it stretches into a grin. “Definitely.” 

 

“Knew you were cool.” Lance sets the little boy down and he scoots off, easily finding his way back to his mom. “Okay, here’s the sitch: I need you to tell my friend Keith something.” 

 

“Keith? The one with the yellow flower?” Amy points to her chest, where all the wedding party have boutonnieres. 

 

“No, that’s Hunk. Keith is the grumpy one dressed all in black.” 

 

“Him?” Amy wrinkles her nose. 

 

“I knooow.” Lance says, rolling his eyes, like,  _ god what a loser,  _ “But I promise, if you tell him this, he’ll laugh.” 

 

Amy nods, listening for the magic words. 

 

Lance smirks. “Tell him that I want him to come over here and  _ cradle me in his arms. _ ” 

 

Amy laughs. “Really?” 

 

“Really.” Lance stands up and waggles his eyebrows in Keith’s general direction. Keith doesn’t seem impressed as Amy skips towards him. 

 

Lance stares impatiently from the edge of the dance floor as Amy and Keith strike up a conversation. Apparently she doesn’t find him so bad now that they’re talking. Because it takes  _ forever. _ But finally, finally, Amy says the magic words and Keith snorts into his hand. He looks Lance’s way and Lance winks at him. Keith shakes his head, but he’s smiling. Amy runs off and Keith gets up, 

 

Keith gets up and, even from this distance, Lance can see him teeter on his feet. Lance raises his eyebrows in disbelief as he takes in the spectacle before him: Keith opens his eyes wide, blinking slowly, head tilted slightly back. He shakes his head, trying to clear it. He takes one step and nearly falls over, then over corrects, tripping to the other side. 

 

Lance continues to watch in open mouthed incredulity: 

 

Licking his lips in concentration, Keith steels himself to the task of walking through the tables of the reception hall towards Lance. He trips over  _ nothing _ and giggles to himself, then stumbles a little bit, almost face planting over a chair. 

 

‘Disbelief’ doesn’t cut it. ‘Incredulous’ is too mild a word. Lance is fucking flabbergasted. Keith. Is. Sloshed. 

 

When sober, the entire universe knows that Keith is a force with which to be reckoned. He moves like his body has a fire within it; he’s blazed across battlefields, won wars with that unchecked flame. Even when tempered, the heat that smolders in him can set a room alight: Keith is passionate and honest and steadfast. When sober.

 

Not-so-sober-Keith is nothing short of bumbling. He stops for a moment, swaying, and looks around, like he’s not quite sure he’s on the right track to his destination. Or how he got here. Lance purses his lips, containing a smile as Keith all but flails his way. 

 

They collide together, Keith falling into his arms. 

 

“Woah, woah,” Lance says, pulling him upright. Keith is grinning, smile sloppy on his face as he leans heavily against Lance’s chest. “Are you drunk?” 

 

Keith laughs, snaking his arms around Lance. His eyes are glassy. “I’m just following directions.” 

 

Except for, it’s not that articulate. The words, not quite slurred, come out in a low drawl: “Ah’m jus followin’ direcktions,” 

 

Is that? Lance straightens up, attempting to hold Keith out in front of him so he can better see his face. Was that a southern drawl? An _ accent _ ? It definitely was. Oh yeah. The universe has been kind to Lancey Lance on this day. This is going to be good. So good. 

 

“You are. So drunk.”  

 

Keith blinks, “Nah.” He bites his lips before they stretch into a closed mouth smile, like he’s been caught in a lie and has to give it up. He nods, eyes squinting shut, “Maybe so.” 

 

“Duuuuude,” Lance comments wisely, at a loss. 

 

Keith giggles, loosening his grip on Lance. He sways to one side and Lance reaches out for him again, one hand lightly on his lower back, making sure he doesn’t just, y’know, fall over. Keith places a hand on Lance’s chest, steadying himself even as he leans to one side, looking around. He seems to have just realized he’s in the middle of the reception hall, where everyone is dancing. 

 

“Hunk!” Keith eyes flutter as he looks to Lance in excitement. He tugs at Lance’s shirt, as if he doesn’t already have Lance’s undivided attention. “Hunk’s here,”

 

“Uh huh,” Lance agrees, trailing close to the bumbling Keith as they make their way towards Hunk and Pidge, “Annnnnd, we’re off.” 

 

“Hunk!” Keith repeats, more or less tackling him. He pillows his head on Hunk’s chest, closing his eyes in contentment as he wraps Hunk in a full body hug. 

 

“Oh hey Keith, whatcha doin---ah, okay, fine with me,” Hunk raises his eyebrows and looks to Lance, while simultaneously responding to Keith with a generous squeeze. 

 

“Hey man, don’t look at me,” Lance raises his arms in innocence, “I just found him like this.” 

 

Keith snorts out a laugh, muffled by Hunk’s chest. “Love you Hunk,” 

 

“Aww, buddy, I love you too.” Hunk lifts Keith off his feet and rocks him back and forth for a moment. Keith is like jello in his arms, all boneless and content. “Who knew that the secret to unlocking cuddly!Keith was just a little alcohol?” 

 

“Well, we haven’t had much of an opportunity for mixed drinks,” Pidge says. She’s got that hungry look on her face like she wants to collect data or some shit, “I wonder if Keith has an especially low tolerance due to---”

 

Lance makes a sound like a buzzer, “Nope!! Nuh uh! Time out! No experimenting on friends while they’re wasted, Pidge. Add that to the rules.” Lance starts numbering off the Castleship’s rules on his fingers:  “Number one: Hang towels up to dry. Do _ not _ leave on the floor. Two: Don’t make Shiro sad. Three: No experimenting on---” 

 

“Pidge!” Keith releases his death grip on Hunk when he realizes that Pidge is near. 

 

“Hey Keith,” Pidge says, unable to contain the happy  _ oof  _ that escapes her when Keith totters over and holds her tight. 

 

“Missed ya,” Keith laments, giving her a squeeze as well. He’s rubbing his face on the top of her head, mussing her already disheveled hair. “Love ya, Pidge,” He kisses her forehead and smiles, closing his eyes with a contented sigh. 

 

“We’ve been together all day, you dork,” Pidge says, caught against Keith’s chest. She pats him on the back in a very patient way. “But usually we’re not. So I get what you mean. Love you too, Keith.” 

 

Keith sighs again, smile crooked and woozy as he droops against her. 

 

“Hey--” Pidge gets under his arms as Keith’s dead weight threatens to smoosh her, “---heavy, god you’re heavy!! Keith!” 

 

“Okay, Keith, don’t turn her into a pancake,” Lance chides. He hauls Keith up from where he’s crushing Pidge---or at least he tries to. Keith is lithe, but it’s deceptive. Lance focuses on keeping his thoughts strictly platonic as his hands scrabble over firm abs, solid chest trying to keep Keith upright. He _ is _ heavy. 

 

Stumbling backwards, Keith giggles as Lance pulls him off poor Pidge. “Love you, Pidge,” he repeats, this time more sing-songy. His head lolls back on Lance’s shoulder, and one hand comes up and pats Lance’s face. “Thanks, sweetheart,” Keith breathes through a relaxed smile, shoulders heavy against Lance’s chest. 

 

Lance chokes.  _ Sweetheart.  _ The word ‘sweetheart’ just exited Keith’s mouth. Directed at him. At Lance. “A-anytime,” he says, eventually, glad that Keith is almost definitely too far gone to pick up on the noise he just made. 

 

Not everyone is completely shitfaced though, and both Hunk and Pidge give Lance an identical knowing look before creepily similar smiles spread across their faces. 

 

“So---” Lance is about to say something brilliantly witty to change the subject when Keith springs to his feet, just barely missing Lance’s jaw with the top of his head as he hurtles forward. 

 

“Mom!” 

 

Krolia is indeed here, seated just a few tables away, but Keith isn’t focused on that. Instead he’s patting himself down, tucking his hands inside his pockets and suit jacket, searching. He finds what he’s looking for after a moment: his comm. 

 

“Um.” Pidge frowns as Keith starts tapping on the screen, deep in concentration. “You  _ do  _ realize---”

 

“Shh, Pidge, I wanna see what he does,” Hunk says in a loud whisper. 

 

“He’s not a zoo animal, guys,” Lance says, craning his neck to get a good look at the screen. 

 

Brows knit with effort, Keith painstakingly types out a message: 

 

**_From Keith_ ** : HI MO m its Keith LOVE u :) b ye 

 

He hits send and all three---Lance, Hunk, and Pidge---swivel around to look at Krolia. At the sound of the notification, she flips open her handheld communicator. Her face remains impassive as she reads the message and types out a response. With a practiced flick of her wrist---the same kind of motion that might reveal a hidden weapon or kill a man, the comm disappears back to wherever she keeps it. The three of them turn back to Keith’s screen. 

 

**_From Mom_ ** : Hi Keith I Love You Too Glad You Are Having A Nice Time Talk To You Soon. Love Mom 

 

Keith reads the message, taking a long time to parse the words. When understanding dawns, he smiles the happiest smile Lance has seen on his face so far, and hugs the phone to his chest. 

 

“You okay, buddy?” Hunk asks him, a light hand on his shoulder. 

 

Keith nods, “‘M real good.” He nods again. “Love my mom,” he says, clearing his throat. He takes one assured step forward and faceplants into the dance floor. 

 

“Dude!” 

 

“Shit! 

 

“Keith!” Lance is snickering as he squats down to Keith’s level. Keith looks up Hunk, who has a hand over his mouth, and Pidge, whose shoulders are silently shaking, then at Lance. The expression on his face is so atypical of Keith---ruffled with surprise, blinking in guileless, good-humored confusion---that Lance can’t help but grin at him. “Looks like you fell for me after all, Keitharino,” 

 

Keith responds to the terrible line with a snort. He shakes his head and snickers a little huff of a laugh under his breath before tossing his head back and laughing for real. It’s the kind of laugh that Lance has so rarely seen from Keith---the uninhibited kind---the kind where Keith’s eyes scrunch up and his mouth is so wide that Lance can spot a metal filling in one of his molars. He slaps a hand against his thigh and tears are gathered at the edges of his eyes. The apples of his cheeks are flushed and his dimples are deep. He’s beautiful. He is also completely and totally hammered. 

 

Heart stuttering, Lance swallows around whatever else he might have said, instead just standing up and offering a hand to help Keith off the floor. This is Keith with zero defenses, no walls up. This is Keith, still holding his hand even as he’s upright, and laying his head on Lance’s shoulder.  

 

This is Lance, so so gone. 

 

“Maybe he should head back to the ship,” Hunk muses. “Pretty sure he has plans to fly out tomorrow, and it looks like he’s gonna have to sleep this off big time.” 

 

“He’s leaving already?” Lance asks. Sure the wedding is over, but couldn’t Keith stay planetside for at least another week or so? 

 

Pidge adjusts Keith’s suit jacket from where it’s laying weird from falling. He lets her fuss over him, which is more telling than everything else together. “You know he keeps busy. He’s leading the Blades in restructuring the entire Quasra system right now. The Jolenian summers are supposed to be brutal, but that didn’t stop him from spending practically the whole season rebuilding the lower edge of their capital city.” 

 

“They needed the help.” Keith butts in, almost too quiet to be heard over the band. His eyes are closed and he’s leaning heavily against Lance, but apparently still listening. 

 

“We should get you home, Keith-y boy,” Lance comments, squeezing Keith’s hand. The thought of Keith being so far away so soon makes his throat feel tight. But that’s the way it’s been, for well over a year now. The war is over and everyone has moved on. 

 

“You’re gonna have one hell of a hangover,” Lance pokes his side, pushing back the heavy mood that’s quickly overtaking him. Keith hasn’t left yet. 

 

“Beyond words,” Keith says in his low drawl, then giggles. He presses a hand to his face and pulls down, making an exaggerated grimace. 

 

“Yeah, and I intend to be far, far away, when you wake up,” Lance says, joking. “I’ve seen you cranky and lemme tell you, it is not pretty.” 

 

They say their goodbyes, to Pidge and Hunk and everyone else, just for now. Keith professes more love, first to Coran, who is breathless from performing a near ritualistic version of the electric slide, then to a random waiter they pass in the hallway after making an emergency stop in the bathroom. 

 

(In the bathroom, Keith pisses, washes his hands and turns to Lance, serious, with the revelation: “I’m kinda drunk.” Lance nods and tells him: “I noticed.” At which point Keith starts giggling again and walks into a full-length mirror because he somehow mistakes it for a door.) 

 

They leave the reception venue, stepping out under the wide night sky. 

 

The Atlas is water docked close to the beach resort. The wedding’s location is swanky enough that they’ve arranged for water taxis to take the crew back aboard if they’re staying on the ship rather than at the hotel. The long, winding docks are decorated with paper lanterns. They hang in billowing lines, casting creamy circles of soft light. Combined with the snowy sands and clear ocean waves and the broad, star-filled sky, it makes for an ethereal view. But...the outline of the Atlas looms dark in the distance. 

 

Lance swallows. Shiro has made it clear that the paladins will always have rooms aboard his ship. Walking down those specific hallways, being in his old barracks---the thought alone makes Lance freeze up. He’s not sure if he’s able to go back. 

 

Keith is a warm and heavy weight against his side. The breeze coming off of the ocean makes him blink, but the hazy smile still hasn’t entirely left his face. He shifts closer to Lance, humming low along with the music fading into the background in favor of the rise and fall of ocean waves. He stumbles, losing his footing, and Lance tightens his hold around Keith’s waist. 

 

Lance _ has _ to help Keith back to his room. At the very least. It’s not like he’ll be staying aboard  the ship. It’ll be quick, he tells himself. Too quick to dwell on memories, too quick to revisit the painful past. He takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing.  

 

“You okay?” Keith asks him. The words are slightly slurred, and his expression is cloudy with alcohol, but the concern is real. He digs his heels in and pulls Lance to a stop. He looks into Lance’s face, searching. “Whasamatter?” 

 

And Lance is just not equipped to deal with this. He’s more than capable of handling prickly Keith, and he can laugh along with plastered Keith, but this? Keith’s expression is nothing short of tender as he looks down into Lance’s eyes. He’s so sweetly confused and wants to help. 

 

Lance shakes his head. “Nothing.” He looks out towards the ship for a second and swallows again, pulling his gaze away. Keith follows the movement, and a small frown works at his eyebrows. “Nothing! Let’s get you---” 

 

Keith breaks apart from him, leaving the dock to take off at a pace faster than Lance would have thought him capable. He’s weaving, but he walks with purpose across the beach...in the wrong direction. 

 

“Keith!! Hey!” Lance takes after him, heavy dress shoes awkward in the sand. “Uhhh,  _ hellooo _ , Earth to Keith! Hey! Mullet for brains!! That’s the  _ wrong way _ !!!” 

 

Keith tosses his head back and laughs, spinning around on the beach. He slots two fingers in his mouth and whistles. 

 

With a clap of sound so loud that it echoes and makes Lance duck his head, the space wolf jolts into existence. She lands on Keith seemingly out of thin air, tackling him to the ground. 

 

“Good girl!! Good girl!!” Keith is exclaiming, happily pinned in the sand as she licks his face. “You’re so good!!” Her tail is wagging so hard her whole butt wiggles with the effort. 

 

(A sight made more comical by the fact that she’s now basically the size of a small car). 

 

“Great.” Lance shakes his head as he stands over Keith and watches the scene. “Just what I need. Double trouble.” 

 

“Good girl,” Keith repeats, almost reverent, stroking the fur of the wolf’s face as she settles down on top of him. “You’re so good.” He hugs her tight against his chest, and---evidently overcome with emotion---wails, “Love you, babygirl!!” 

 

And what can Lance do but sit down in the sand next to Keith and give the giant puppy a behind-the-ear scratch? “Okay. Time-out. Wolf break. That’s fine.” 

 

Keith tilts his head to look up at Lance from the sand. He grins---and it’s entirely too devious---before leaning into the wolf’s poofy fur and whispering something in her ear. 

 

“Keith, don’t do what I think you’re---Keith!!! You better not!!! Ke---” Lance scrambles away, shoes slipping in the sand---

 

“Get ‘em!!” Keith shouts, his arms splayed out over his head in full-body excitement. 

 

And all at once the wolf snaps out of sight from on top of Keith----shit, where’d she go---Lance takes a step to one side, looking around, but,

 

There’s a crack and then suddenly Lance is sent flying across the beach as the ginormous space beast headbutts him out of nowhere. He lands in the soft sand with a cry that quickly becomes a muffled shout: the wolf is licking his face now too. Lance is surprised to find her tongue is all barb-y and rough, like a cat’s. “Gross!!! Get off!!” He makes a big show of rolling around and protesting, just because he can hear Keith giggling in the background, and he never wants it to stop. “Keith!!” Lance feigns desperation, “Please!! Call off your hound! I’ll do anything!!” 

 

“She,” Keith is breathless with laughing, “She---” He gives up, words failing him as another laugh chokes his throat. “The look on yer face!” He gasps. He’s still lying in the sand, but now he’s turned on his side to face Lance. He has his arms clutched around his belly. Some of his dark hair has fallen out of his ponytail but Keith doesn’t have the presence of mind to fix it. 

 

“Yeah yeah,” Lance grumbles, cheeks aching from Keith’s infectious smiles. He makes a motion like he’s shoving Keith, but Keith is too far away to make contact. “Yuk it up.” 

 

“Sorry, sugar,” Keith says, eyes still shimmering with amusement indicating that he’s not sorry at all. He gets up on unsteady feet, completely unaware of the flush that’s burning down Lance’s neck and up the tips of his ears at the diminutive.  

 

“Sugar?” Lance squeaks as Keith wobbles towards him, attempting to help him up. 

 

Keith blinks down at him, hands wrapped around Lance’s forearms. He doesn’t respond, but instead hauls Lance to his feet, strong and solid and now very very close. They stumble together. 

 

“You jus stay real close, sugar, I got you,” Keith says, breath hot against his neck compared to the cool beach air. He wraps his arms around Lance, holding him tight. 

 

“Babygirl,” Keith shifts slightly to look down at the wolf, “Take us home.” 

 

There’s another bolt of sound but it’s different from the inside---a  _ swoop  _ more than a crack---and the world shifts and the ground is swept out from underneath them. The whole earth turns and so does Lance’s stomach and then he’s dropping, onto his feet, onto a familiar hardwood floor. 

 

He might have lost his balance were it not for Keith’s holding him close. “I got you,” Keith repeats, mouth pressed near Lance’s temple. 

 

Lance blinks as his eyes adjust to the change in light. He knows this room. 

 

The sunlight of early morning is catching in the curtains. The worn couch, the television, the coffeetable Lance managed to snag from the Goodwill two towns over. This is his house. 

 

“Keith. How did we get from the Maldives to my house?” 

 

Lance can feel the laugh rumble through Keith’s chest. “Shhh,” he says. 

 

He sways, holding Lance in his arms. The sway becomes a shuffle. A slow dance. Keith’s face is tucked close to Lance’s, the tip of his nose pressed against Lance’s neck. It’s not quite his lips, not quite a kiss, but close. Lance runs a hand from Keith’s shoulder down to the small of his back, and Keith sighs out approval, nuzzling closer. He hums something under his breath, adding his own music to their dance. 

 

Lance’s heart is beating so fast, a frantic pace set into motion by Keith’s smile, his closeness, his hands heavy on Lance’s hips. He inhales, trying to listen to listen to the voice of reason, the one that tells him to step away and let his pulse quiet. He tries to think about the Keith that he’s always known---the one who’s always been honest and awkward and painfully out of reach---rather than the realization that right now it would be so easy to touch Keith’s jaw, to pull him that much closer, to catch his lips, to turn this playacting into something real and tangible and that he wants  _ so bad _ . 

 

Lance is only so strong. The pads of his fingers graze Keith’s cheek, thumb gentle along his jawline. Keith’s expression is lax. His eyes are closed, relaxed under Lance’s hands. “Keith,” Lance says, heart in his throat, 

 

And Keith’s whole body jerks, 

 

Lance backs off, dropping his hand, stepping out of his arms, pulse drumming loud in his ears. “Sor--sorry, shit, Keith, I---” 

 

“Hic!” Keith jerks again, eyes flying open. His hand comes up to his mouth, and his shoulders start to shake. He’s laughing, and trying to talk, “Stop--hic!---why---” 

 

He can’t get a word out, the hiccups abruptly cutting off any words that manage to sneak through the laughter. It’s frustrating for him so Keith starts to get angry---especially when he sees Lance’s horrified expression shift into one of amusement. “Don’t la---hic!---laugh---” 

 

“I’m not laughing,” Lance says, before bursting into another laugh at Keith’s deadly glare. Now  _ that’s _ the Keith he knows. 

 

“Try holding your breath,” Lance recommends. 

 

Keith pinches his nose and puffs his cheeks out---Hic! 

 

“Touch your toes and count to ten,” Lance says, 

 

Keith obediently bends forward and touches his shoes---Hic!

 

“Stand on one leg and recite the alphabet backwards,” 

 

Keith rises, wobbly, onto one leg and starts, not yet catching Lance’s shit-eating grin: “Z, Y---hic---you ass!!” He nearly falls over and shoves Lance away, fuming. 

 

Lance devolves into peals of laughter, easily getting outside of the reach of Keith’s flailing arms. Keith tries to follow him, but he stumbles and hiccups and generally just looks mad as hell. “Stup--hic!--id, stupid hic--hic!---hiccups!!!” 

 

Mouth pressed together, Lance manages to hide a snort of laughter as Keith hiccups again and shakes his fist at nothing. He slips away to the kitchen for something to help the poor guy. 

 

Lance returns with a glass of water. Keith sloshes about half of it down his front, but eventually manages to swallow a mouthful. It takes a few minutes, and more water---Keith’s swears becoming more colorful with every failed attempt---but eventually the hiccups seem to be gone. 

 

“Whew,” Lance sighs, taking the breakable glass away from Keith. He shakes his head as though this has been a very difficult experience and not an excuse to poke fun at Keith’s helpless ire for the past twenty minutes. “So now,” 

 

“All wet,” Keith says, just now noticing his shirt. 

 

“No worries, I can lend you---” Lance’s words die on his lips as Keith kicks off his shoes, hands on his waistband. His belt buckle clanks and Keith steps out of his dress slacks with a hop. 

 

“Okay,” Lance swallows, “Okay, that’s---” 

 

Keith shrugs out of the suit jacket, tossing it over the couch. He frowns, clumsy fingers struggling with the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt. Before Lance can even figure out what’s happening, Keith has his knife in his hand--- _ where _ did it even  _ come from _ \---he flicks his wrist and the knife swishes dangerously through the air---he moves to cut the buttons---

 

“Dude!!!” Lance darts forward, one hand on Keith’s arm. “No. Put that thing away. I just fuckin’ saw my life flash before my eyes, please---” 

 

Keith blinks, raising the luxite blade terrifyingly close to his face, “This?” 

 

“ _ No the other knife _ \---yes, that one!!!” 

 

With a swish, the knife is resheathed. “Can’t get them undone,” Keith pouts. He’s definitely getting sleepy. 

 

“I’ll do it.” Lance wiggles his fingers and Keith sighs, holding out his hand. Lance undoes the cuff buttons, while Keith stands there docile. His eyes are heavy lidded and his breath is slow as Lance undoes the buttons of his dress shirt. “There.” He helps Keith with the sleeves. “There. It’s off.” 

 

“Thanks, Lance,” Keith says, soft smile, standing in tight little black boxers in Lance’s living room. 

 

“Anytime,” Lance says, as though this is a routine occurrence for him. His mouth is dry. “I’ll get you---” 

 

Keith flops onto the couch, snuggling into a pillow. He yawns. 

 

“A blanket,” Lance finishes. 

 

He returns with a blanket to find Keith snoring, open mouthed, sprawled out over the couch. Asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Jerk. 

 

Kosmo lifts her head from the floor, ears twitching in question, and Lance holds a finger up to his mouth. She lays back down with a soft exhale, closing her eyes. Carefully ignoring pretty white thighs, and perfect, toned arms, and the lush, dark hair that covers his tummy and disappears into his boxers, Lance spreads the blanket over Keith. He arranges it, pulling the covers past Keith’s shoulders so they don’t fall off. Keith smacks his lips, stirring, but he doesn’t wake up.  

 

Lance pauses, looking down at Keith. He’s asleep but----wait. Keith shifts, one tossed over his head, and. _ He still has his fingerless gloves on.  _ Really, Keith? Really?  _ Of all the lame _ \---Lance snorts, crouching down to lift Keith’s limp right hand out from under the blanket. His nails are a little long and uneven, but it’s better than how they used to be: bitten to the quick, cuticles chewed and bloody. The difference makes something swell in Lance’s chest, more genuine than a racing pulse. Keith was so happy tonight, so lighthearted. Not at all how he used to be. 

 

Lance unsnaps the wrist cuff of Keith’s glove and gently tugs, freeing Keith’s hand. Before he can think better of it, Lance leans down a little closer and presses a kiss into his bare palm. Seeing Keith so carefree---it’s good. Face burning, Lance lifts Keith’s left hand and pulls off the second glove, but this time, before releasing his hold, his lips brush over Keith’s knuckles. Lance has seen them bruised and cut, but, right now, the skin is unbroken. Keith pulls his ungloved hands to his chest, curling them close to himself in sleep. 

 

Keith’s hair is a mess of hair gel and sand and tangles from the salty beach air. Lance smooths it out of Keith’s face, fingers running over the soft widow’s peak of his hairline, the baby hairs that wisp over his forehead. There’s no knit between his dark brows. They’ve known each other for years, but Lance has never seen Keith’s face quite like this: slack with sleep and lack of care. He looks open. Untroubled. Gorgeous.

 

Lance tucks the hair behind Keith’s ear and rises. He should sleep too. There’ll be hell to pay in the morning. 

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! I cant believe I wrote over 6k of drunk keith. so self indulgent lol. Just a reminder, if you want to know what happens when Keith wakes up, that has already been written: [when all this is over, where do we stand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16667827/chapters/39084061) , but its not til chapter 17!! 
> 
> Ps I am always available for shouting about keith :D @jacqulinetan on twitter


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